Dreamless or Not
by hannah-jennifer
Summary: a short one-shot based off of the Doctor's monologue in TDotD. Whouffle. Little to no spoilers.


A quick one-shot from Eleven's words at the end of The Day of The Doctor because I couldn't sit still whilst watching it the second time and had to write.

* * *

He feels her, rather than hears her footsteps padding the metal floor of the TARDIS. It's relatively silent inside the phonebox and he's holding a book about quantum physics he never got around to starting. The gentle hum had begun lulling him into a trance between being awake and drowsiness. He would never fall completely asleep because he had grown so accustomed to a warm body next to his on the few nights he needed rest. Other nights were spent merely in her presence, watching the soft glow of a night light dance over her features.

He knows she's awake due to the sudden energy shift in the room. He can feel the spark she ignites and him as soon as she opens the bedroom door, and the closer she gets, the more he wants to forget the book. He relaxes then, leaning against the railing, and smiles softly at the scuffling of her socked feet.

"Couldn't sleep?" she whispers, her voice unable to go any octave higher in her state of consciousness. He doesn't acknowledge that she was probably standing in the entrance for a few minutes before announcing her arrival and she would never admit it if he did.

"Something like that," he breathes, not looking up from the text. He doesn't move his eyes a word until she sits down next to where he's perched on the TARDIS stairs. Only then does he allow his gaze to wander over to his companion.

Her hair, once a neat plait down her back, rest in a messy ponytail between her shoulder blades, covered only by a thick sweater. The fabric draped off of one shoulder, revealing a thin strap to her red tank top which bunched up to show a strip of tan flesh between the shirt and her flannel pajama pants. Her eyes are soft and a small smile adorns her face, which he finds contagious and a grin finds its way onto his lips.

"The bed was cold." Clara admits after a few seconds, knocking his knees with her own. Her entire body shifts closer to his due to the movement and he takes the opportunity to pull her closer to him. His arm snakes around her waist and his left hand rests upon her hip, the right still holding the book open. Her head lay in the crook of his neck and her quiet breathing soother him. He placed a kiss into her hair and then his cheek to the top of her head and sighed.

She fiddles with her hands in her lap until her left hand reaches across them both. Her fingers dance over his cotton covered legs and clasp around a bookmark that laid there. She placed it into the crease of his book and slowly closed it before he could protest. The Doctor shoved the book so that it was a step down from them and out of the way.

Clara's arm was draped over his stomach and he swirled constellations into her flesh with his fingertips. A shiver ran down her spine and he smiled, pulling her closer.

"Doctor?" she piped up. He merely 'hmmed' an answer. "Do you dream?"

The Doctor chuckled, "Course I dream. Everybody dreams."

She changes her position so she can look into his eyes, fingers lacing with his. "But what do you dream about?"

He shrugs. "The same thing everybody dreams about," he pauses. "I dream about where I'm going."

She laughs at that, her small hands squeezing his. "But you're not going anywhere," she insists, "you're just wandering about."

"Not true," the Doctor argues. She raises her eyebrows in challenge, one he can finally win. He pulls her closer and kisses her forehead. "Everyone has a destination. Sometimes I wonder where I'm going."

She cups his jaw and strokes her thumb over his prominent cheek bone. "Sometimes you say things, Doctor."

A smirk slips onto his face, "I tend to, don't I?"

"Shut up," she giggles. "_I meant, _sometimes you say these things, and they're so quotable. And they remind me of how wonderful and insightful you really are. It's more grown up."

"Well then, Clara Oswald," he announces, eyes twinkling with mischief, "where is your destination?"

"Right now," she sasses, "bed. I'm beat from all that running earlier."

He pouts, "But that's no fun."

She leans in and presses a chaste kiss to his lips before standing. In his tired state, he only appears surprised and doesn't blush as madly. She holds out her hand and waits for him.

"C'mon chin boy," she winks, "I'll make it worth your while."


End file.
